“Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. ’ ‘A pretty tale. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. You take them. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti.
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